


Riddle Dysfunction

by freckledandspectacled



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Riddles, Brain Damage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I HATE YOU, I know, Love, M/M, Riddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 19:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12327141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: Edward is eager to show Oswald he's doing fine on his own, and to settle the score between them. If only Oswald could actually figure out his riddles...





	Riddle Dysfunction

**Author's Note:**

> I know Ed won't meet Lee and Grundy until after he confronts Oswald, but I wanted him to. You'll see why. (Mostly for comedic effect, tbh.)
> 
> Also: there will be no rapping in this fic. I'm not that bold. Kudos to Ben McKenzie, but you've gone too far in your writing for me to follow.

It isn’t difficult to follow Edward’s riddles, particularly when they so carefully track through their shared history. The first one directs him to Kristen’s original resting place, where he and Zsasz scour the surrounding woods for a second clue. They come up empty. In his second missive, Edward mocks him for getting it wrong and failing to find him. He then invokes an old nursery rhyme, from which the term ‘Grundy’ is missing. Once again Oswald believes the answer to be obvious, heading to Edward’s old apartment on Grundy street. There is nothing there yet again, and he curses Edward and his damn riddles to hell and back. Perhaps he was missing something, perhaps Edward had intentionally misled him with an obvious answer twice now, in order to intentionally rile him up. For what purpose, he doesn’t know. The third missive he determines to be referencing Arkham. Edward’s riddle indicates a place for chaos and fighting, and knowing that Edward is no great fighter himself unless forced, he assumes it to be referring to a time in his life when he hadn’t the choice. He knows it's unlikely that Edward would ever return to this place, but he can’t think of any possible location that Edward would willingly have ventured to with an intent to participate in violence, leaving only the unwilling places.

It’s after these three failed riddles that Edward finally ends the game and confronts Oswald himself. Oswald has finally left the Lounge for the first time in days. He’s been occupied with overseeing the safe transfer of narcotics into the hands of licensed dealers. Drug trafficking isn’t new territory for him, but it is a new system. To have any kind of hold in the business and regulate prices, he needs to be sure that the drugs only go from the hands of his dealers to those of the people. It’s also vital that his dealers sell only the drugs that he’s distributing, cutting out anyone else from introducing unregulated drugs onto the streets of Gotham.

In his own way, the fixed dosages and carefully screened opioids Oswald is providing have increased the safety of users and reduced crime. There are no more turf wars over who sells what and where between gangs because Oswald’s empire is the only gang bringing in goods. He owns the city. Violent crime has therefore gone down, as has the number of overdoses. Another victory Oswald would love to rub in Jim Gordon’s face, but no matter. Zsasz leaves him at the front door, and Oswald retires to his room. A click from a darkened corner alerts him to the presence of someone else.

“Hello, Oswald.” Edward says, stepping out from the shadows. His weapon is drawn. Edward’s finger is on the trigger and the safety is off, a move you never make unless you’re prepared to destroy whatever the gun is currently aimed at. At the moment, that’s Oswald’s face.

“Edward, glad to see we’ve done away with the riddles and can chat like civilized people,” Oswald drawls, sizing him up.

“You performed so terribly it left me with no other choice than to come directly to you,” Edward says. “I should have known you wouldn’t measure up.”

“Is that a reference to my height? Now that’s just poor manners,” Oswald tuts, trying to distract Edward while he maneuvers himself so there are no obstacles between them.

“No, it wasn’t— you haven’t measured up to the man I thought you were, the one who was clever enough to outwit me and keep me as a frozen _display_ for five months.”

“Seems we’re both disappointed. Here you are, being predictable yet again by threatening to shoot me. I suppose we’ll just head over to the docks now?”

“Shut up!” Edward says, fist clenching on the gun. “You’re not the only one who’s learned. Now, riddle me this: Without me life, has no meaning. My days are spent consumed by you. I am your purpose, I am true. Who am I?”

“Oh, Ed,” Oswald replies, his face softening with realization. Why can’t Edward just say what he means? Oswald quickly steps towards him, pushing his firing arm out of the way and tugging him down by the lapels of his unbuttoned jacket to kiss him. Edward freezes, then pushes him hard with both hands on his chest. Oswald stumbles back.

“What are you doing?” Edward shrieks, his gun shaking furiously in his hand as he aims it at Oswald.

“The answer to your riddle,” Oswald says. “You’re my true love.”

“No!” Edward howls, fisting his hands in his hair. “I’m your sworn enemy!” Oswald’s face falls.

“But your riddles, our history…”

“My riddles had _nothing_ to do with you,” Edward says, his frustration growing more and more apparent. “Nothing! Couldn’t you tell?”

“They first one was clearly about Kristen—”

“Y _ou might not even like me, but you see me every day. We work together, not by choice but for pay. What am I?_ A coworker, I’m a coworker,” Edward says, reciting the riddle with such rapid and manic zeal that if Oswald hadn’t already read it, he wouldn’t have understood what Edward was saying.

“And Kristen was your coworker,” Oswald points out. Edward pauses, and Oswald can almost see the smoke coming from his ears. Finally, he gives a resigned huff.

“Fine, I’ll give you that one. Wasn’t specific enough. I _meant_ Leslie Thompkins.”

“She hates you,” Oswald says bluntly.

“She helps me, and she’s an excellent ally,” Edward snips. “Now, how on earth were you unable to piece together a well-known nursery rhyme?”

“I did,” Oswald complains, indignant. “I went to your apartment on Grundy.” Edward’s face drains of color.

“No… that wasn’t…” He turns, stalking away from Oswald quickly and smacking his forehead, one, two, three times. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Edward pivots on his heel and marches back, gun leveled at Oswald’s face again.

“Solomon Grundy is another one of my new allies, and he’s been making quite the stir in the realm of fight clubs. I’m not surprised you haven’t been paying attention, you never were any good at identifying imminent threats to your empire.”

“I’ve been very busy making a lot of money, and making the GCPD look like fools,” Oswald says, voice level. He’d gotten under Edward’s guard once now, he can probably do it again. He had been incorrect in assuming that the gun was intended for Edward’s protection from Oswald. That assumption had been made only because Oswald had believed Edward’s riddles to be indicative of romantic feelings. He won’t make that mistake again. Edward clearly isn’t here to make up _or_ make out.

“No matter,” Edward says. “I assume you understand your error with the last riddle, now?”

“Obviously it was about your little fight club,” Oswald says.

“What did you think the answer was?” Edward says, eyes shining. Oswald sighs.

“Arkham.”

“Ha!” Edward laughs abruptly. “Well, not everything is about you, Oswald.”

“It’s not my fault your riddles are so bad,” Oswald counters.

“Excuse me?” Edward says, outraged at the insinuation.

“You need to work on your Riddles, _Riddler_ ,” Oswald mocks. “My answers weren’t incorrect. This entire day I’ve been running around from the place we met, to the first place we lived together, to the place I started to… to fall for you. And that last riddle clearly, _clearly_ could have been about love. It’s not even the first one you’ve told me with that answer.”

“Well you’re wrong, on all counts!” Edward insists. “And my riddles made perfect sense. You’re the one who’s incompetent, not me.”

“Myrtle Jenkins kindly informed me that you were having trouble answering the most basic riddles,” Oswald continues, inching forward. “You’re not as sharp as you were, Edward. What are you going to do without that clever mind of yours? Obviously, you’ve been surrounding yourself with people who are more capable. Leslie’s the brains, Grundy the brawn. Am I right? And you think that together, they’ll protect you.” Edward steps back from his advance, inching away.

“Dr. Thompkins is helping me get better,” Edward admits. “But you and I have a score to settle, and I don’t need either of them to do that.”

“Oh, but you do,” Oswald falsely laments. “You couldn’t even write a riddle to get me in the same place as you. Who would have thought that the Riddler would lose his affinity for riddles?”

“I’m going to get better,” Edward insists, the gun shaking in his hand. “I’m going to be who I’m supposed to be.”

“That hasn’t seemed to work out yet,” Oswald says. He is intimately aware of Edward’s weaknesses, and he plans to exploit every one. Just as he’d done before, that first time on the docks. Only this time he has more ammunition, and this time it’s going to _work_. It has to. “First you became the Riddler by killing me… only not really. Now you couldn’t even solve a riddle intended for _children_ to save your life. Face it, Ed. You’re nobody, now. You’re not the _Riddler_ , you’re not even the same man I made my chief of staff. You’re back to being _nothing_.” Edward’s face seems to shatter in front of his eyes, and Oswald lunges forward, grabbing the gun and twisting it from his grip as they tumble to the floor. Oswald quickly slips the magazine loose and throws it elsewhere, emptying the chamber and throwing the gun away too. Oswald sighs in relief and observes the man beneath him. What he sees manages to shock him. Edward Nygma is currently sobbing into his hands, making no move to fight back.

“You’re right,” Edward says, his voice muffled. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m nothing. I’m nobody.”

“Shh,” Oswald says, gathering Edward up into his arms. Perhaps he’d gone a bit too far in his feint. Time for damage control.

“Don’t touch me,” Edward protests, pushing his arms between them. “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re not nothing,” Oswald says, “You’re just very bad at noticing when I’m faking you out.” Edward shakes his head, still fighting halfheartedly to leave Oswald’s embrace. Oswald knows Edward possesses a wiry strength, and if he didn’t want Oswald touching him, he wouldn’t be able to. He keeps hold of him.

“No, you were right. I’m even more pathetic than that… what did you call me? ‘Nervous, jittery loser’ you first met. At least he had brains.” Edward laughs self-deprecatingly.

“I told you earlier, Edward,” Oswald insists, cupping his face. “You’re not nothing, you’re my one true love.” Edward searches his expression for deception, though he’s never been particularly adept at noting it from Oswald.

“Even like this?” Edward asks. “Even now that I’m useless?”

“It was never about how useful you were to me,” Oswald says. “That’s just how you think of yourself. It’s how you made me— _make_ me feel. That hasn’t changed, despite how you have.”

“You put me on _display_ ,” Edward says, his voice cracking. Oswald shrugs, and then all at once it occurs to him how vulnerable that knowledge must have made Edward feel. Being showcased as Oswald’s prized possession. Being _imprisoned_ by him. Of course, that had been his intent at first, but perhaps it would be reassuring to Ed to know there were other reasons for his prominence in the Lounge.

“I wanted you around,” Oswald explains. “I did all my business in the Lounge, and it somehow felt like I was including you that way. I’d even speak to you in front of my business partners, on occasion. I’d always imagine what you’d say if you were there, what you’d do. It was always the right thing… I don’t think I’m very accomplished at saying the right things to you in return.”

“No, you’re not,” Edward huffs. “You tricked me again; I should have learned by now that you never say what you mean when I have you at gunpoint. Whether it’s the wrong thing or just a ruse.”

“You’re not exactly operating at peak efficiency,” Oswald notes. “I can help with that.” Edward shakes his head.

“You might not be able to,” he morosely explains. “Dr. Thompkins isn’t sure how much I can improve from here, if I’ll ever be the same. I might— it might be _forever_.” Tears spill over his face, and Edward hurriedly wipes them away.

“This was all I had,” Edward says, furiously tapping his temple with one finger. “Now it’s gone, and who am I without it?” The gravity of what Oswald has done to Edward finally occurs to him. He’s taken away the only thing Edward had used to distinguish himself from others, the only thing he’d been able to employ in his defense. The attribute that attracted others to him and made him a desirable ally. How could he define himself now, when the one stable aspect of his identity had been obliterated? Edward’s core identity was rooted in his intelligence, and now that had been supplanted. Who is he now, without it?

“I’m so sorry,” Oswald says, wiping away a tear Edward had missed on his cheek. “I did another selfish thing in a long list of selfish things, but I’m going to fix it, Edward. I know what this means to you. You said Leslie has been helping you?” Edward nods and sniffs.

“Dr. Thompkins is a physician in the fight club where I announce. She patches up Grundy after fights, and she’s been working on my brain, too. So far, she’s had better success with him.”

“I’m going to get in touch with Fries and see what can be done; conferring with Leslie about your condition will probably be helpful to him, and could be imperative in your recovery. You’re going to get better, Edward, I promise,” Oswald says, pushing back loose hair that had fallen into Edward’s face during their scuffle.

“You can’t promise that,” Edward says. “I might be like this forever. My brain was… _is_ … damaged. Sometimes that can’t be fixed.”

“It will be,” Oswald insists.

“I don’t trust you, how do I know you won’t just freeze me again?” Edward raises a fair point. How did he know? Oswald still isn’t sure when he’d made the decision not to. He’d wanted nothing more than to have Edward back in the Lounge— his perfect Edward— as soon as possible. Yet now that he’s holding him again, he can’t get over how much better is it to see him in action, to feel him. It’s far better than pretending. Not only that, but Edward is not currently trying to kill him, and he seems to be willing to accept Oswald’s help. He might only be willing because of the brain damage that Oswald has indirectly caused, but he’s willing nonetheless.

Oh, who is he kidding. Certainly, it was because of answers as logical as that, but mostly…

“Because I love you,” Oswald says. “Five months having you frozen did nothing to lessen my feelings. It was a pointless exercise. Perhaps if the experiment had continued for longer… but you’re out now and that’s over with. And it— it harmed you. The point of keeping you like that was to ensure you could never hurt me again, and that I wasn’t hurting you. It appears that wasn’t true, and I won’t risk doing that to you again.”

“How can you still say that to me; how can you be so sure after everything I’ve done?” Edward asks.

“It has nothing to do with what you’ve done; I’ve made my fair share of mistakes as well. I love you, I did this to you, and now I’m going to fix it. I’m afraid you’ll just have to trust me,” Oswald says. It’s weak argument from someone whose ability to deceive is renowned, but it’s all he has.

“Then I trust you,” Edward says. The answer is so immediate it seems to shock even himself, and his mouth opens and closes like there’s more he wants to say before his lips form a thin line to hold it back.

“What is it, Ed?” Oswald implores, leaning in.

“I trust you, but I hate you so much for doing this to me,” Edward says, more tears springing forth. “I hate that you still care about me, and I hate that you’re making it harder for me to hate you.” He lunges forward, lips and teeth violently clashing with Oswald’s mouth. He breaks away as abruptly as he started, leaving Oswald dazed.

“More than anything, I hate that I still care about you.” He cups Oswald’s face this time, making his next attack deeper. Oswald has a chance to reciprocate this time, pulling Edward closer and returning his insistent kisses with equal force.

“I hate myself for what I’ve done to you, if that makes you feel any better,” Oswald offers, once Edward has finally had enough of ravaging his mouth. “You deserved better from me.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Edward says. “This does.” He pulls Oswald into another searing kiss, clutching at him as though his life depends on it.

“I don’t understand,” Oswald says, after they’ve broken apart to catch their breath.

“Well, the whole situation is alarmingly simple once you get down to it. We both messed up. Why dwell on it? It’s too complicated for me to unravel who ultimately did the worse thing, especially given my… affliction. Ergo, I am choosing to ignore the past altogether. We can start with a clean slate, and you can help me. We can both get what we want.”

“Wait— are you attempting to barter my help in exchange for a romantic relationship?” Oswald asks, outraged. Edward is far too prideful to ever make that kind of trade, this is unheard of. Not only that, but Oswald has pride of his own, and he won’t ever accept a deal of that sort.

“No!” Edward exclaims, eyes wide. “I meant that I want you, too... though I suppose having Fries help me out is a bonus... Anyways, I was talking about us. I apologize if that was unclear. I’ve— obviously been having issues with that.”

“It’s perfectly understandable, you should eat and get some rest. You look— well, you look _dreadful_.” Edward grimaces.

“I spent… quite some time composing those riddles. I wanted them to be _perfect_ , to impress you. I suppose the effort was for naught, though.”

“They were decent enough riddles… perhaps there was some subconscious meaning you didn’t intend, and that’s why they were so frustrating for you?” Oswald conjectures, trying to assuage his ego. Edward scoffs at him.

“Well that intent would of course be _unconscious_ , and therefore there is no way to prove it. Though it would explain my distress writing them…”

“How long did it take you?” Edward remains stubbornly silent. “Ed?”

“I began working on them immediately after escaping from Myrtle,” Edward admits. Oswald’s jaw drops.

“But that was a week ago!” Edward only looks more dejected at this, and Oswald pulls him into a hug. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be focusing on that. She’s dead, by the way. If that cheers you up any. I’m surprised you didn’t kill her.”

“She was… overzealous. But she helped me, probably even saved my life, and I left her alive for that reason. I just needed to get away from her. I’m not glad she’s dead, if that’s what you want to know.”

“Oh,” Oswald says, a bit put out by this. “Well, I had legitimate reason to kill her. She did steal you away from me, after all.”

“There seems to be a pattern here,” Edward says, smiling against the side of Oswald’s neck. “Not that I’m much good at recognizing those anymore.”

“You’ll get it back,” Oswald says, running hands over Edward’s shoulders. “So, is this a truce, then?”

“A truce,” Edward confirms. He leans back enough so he can reach Oswald’s lips, kissing him so softly, so much more gently than before. It’s feather light, but the promise it brings carries weight. “You don’t try to kill me, and I don’t try to kill you.”

“And I’ll set Fries to the task of assisting you when he’s not busy with his own work,” Oswald insists. “Your ailment is my doing.”

“I appreciate it,” Edward says. “Can I crash here? I didn’t really have anything planned for after I killed you.”

“Maybe you weren’t actually planning on killing me,” Oswald suggests. Edward frowns at this.

“I don’t even know that for sure, so there’s no way you could,” Edward points out.

“Call it intuition,” Oswald says, “based off the fact that you had no contingency plan for escaping, or for dealing with my demise.”

“How did you—” Edward starts.

“I know you, Ed,” Oswald reminds him. “That hasn’t changed. You can stay here. I still have some of your clothes, and you’re welcome to join me for dinner…”

“I’d like that,” Edward says. He stands, helping Oswald to his feet. Edward keeps hold of his hands, hesitating. Oswald brings one of Edward’s hands to his lips and kisses the back of it. Edward smiles shyly, blushing a bit at the gesture.

“I hate you,” Edward confesses softly, leaning in for another sweet kiss.

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I had him meet Lee and Grundy first so I could make Edward's riddles even worse and more incomprehensible. He wanted to tell Oz about his new friends and how he doesn't need him so badly, just so he could do the equivalent of dropping the mic and walking out on him. Then Oswald had to go and show him that he still cares about Ed, even loves him. That bastard. Whelp, I hope you enjoyed this. I can't wait to see what goes down on Thursday. Comment your thoughts on this, and if you want to talk theories, I'm the same url on tumblr!


End file.
